Begin Again
by DizzyDrea
Summary: Life doesn't always offer second chances, but over the course of a blind date Kate Beckett discovers that hope sometimes really does spring eternal.


Title: Begin Again  
Author: DizzyDrea  
Summary: Life doesn't always offer second chances, but over the course of a blind date Kate Beckett discovers that hope sometimes really does spring eternal.  
Rating: T  
Spoilers: None  
Author's Notes: This story is entirely inspired by the Taylor Swift song _Begin Again_. It's also a bit of an AU, so it's all of our favorite characters, but just slightly different. Muse is excited (extremely excited) to see the season premiere on Monday night, and insisted we write this to tide her over. What can I say? I live to please the Muse. Also, I have finally broken the single word title convention established oh so long ago with my first Castle Story. I have no idea why.  
Disclaimer: Castle is the property of ABC, ABC Studios, Beacon Productions, Andrew Marlowe and a lot of other people who aren't me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Kate Beckett stands in front of the mirror in her apartment, examining her appearance. She's wearing a red turtleneck sweater with her favorite dark wash jeans and a pair of black boots that add another three inches to her already long frame. She chews her lips, unsure if the red says she's trying too hard, or if it simply says _look at me, I'm happy_.

She glances back at her bed, where the rejects of the last hour sit piled on top of her downy comforter. Her eye catches on the clock and she mutters a quick and heartfelt _shit_ before grabbing her black overcoat and dashing from the room.

She spares a glance in the hall mirror for her hair, but she doesn't have time to fuss over it anymore. However it looks, it'll have to do. Pocketing her keys, she scoops up her purse and heads for the door.

As she waits for the elevator—impatiently tapping the toe of her boot on the carpeted hallway—she wonders again why she let Lanie talk her into this. The ink on the divorce papers is barely dry—okay, that's not true. She and Josh have been divorced for six months, and it's not like she really wants to go back to being the fancy accessory on a renowned Cardiologist's arm. She's got a career she's proud of, which was a source of near constant conflict in her marriage, and she doesn't want to ever go back to feeling like being an Assistant District Attorney is somehow the lesser of any career paths she could have chosen.

The elevator dings and the doors slide silently open. Mrs. Jenkins from 6B is inside; Kate flashes her a quick smile as she punches the button for the lobby. Repeatedly. She hopes the old lady is too busy thinking about wherever she's going to make small talk, but those hopes are quickly dashed.

"Going on a date, dear?"

Kate closes her eyes, takes a deep, cleansing breath. She turns with a smile on her face, and if it's entirely fake, well Mrs. Jenkins doesn't seem to notice. "Just lunch with a friend."

It's not. Well, it is lunch, but it's not with a friend, and she's not sure she wants him to be a friend. Thankfully, the elevator chooses that moment to glide to a stop in the lobby. Mrs. Jenkins reaches out and pats her forearm.

"You'll do fine, dear. You always do."

Kate swallows the bitter bile crawling into her throat, smiles another fake smile and dashes for the door like the elevator's on fire. But once she's on the street, no matter how hard she tries, she can't stop thinking about this date—and yes, she's willing to admit that she let her mother set her up on a blind date, and let her best friend talk her into going—and the more she thinks about it, the more nervous she gets.

Desperate for a distraction as she makes her way to the café where she's supposed to meet this disaster—no, he's a date, not a disaster waiting to happen—she pulls her headphones out of her pocket and picks a song on her phone. It's one of her favorites, and she lets the familiarity wash away the panic.

She never used to be like this. Back before Josh Davidson, she was a confident, vibrant woman with a strong career and lots of friends. And it's not like she isn't still those things. She has Lanie Parrish, the Coroner she's bonded with over far too many murder victims, and her boyfriend Javier Esposito, the lead detective out of the Twelfth Precinct, plus a whole host of colleagues, some of whom she actually likes. And her parents are a constant source of love and support. She has her sights set on becoming the first female DA in Manhattan, and not even Josh had beaten that out of her (not literally, anyway; she'd have left him sooner if he'd so much as laid a hand on her).

But somehow, after three years of marriage, she'd finally figured out that she wasn't supposed to feel like she needed to change everything about who she is in order to please someone else. It had been a long time coming, and Josh hadn't been as surprised as she'd expected him to be when she'd announced plans to divorce him. She still thinks he was screwing one of the Cardiology nurses on the side, and isn't that just one cliché too far?

She arrives at the café in good time, just as the song is winding down. It's entirely too festive, with garlands and holly and a thousand fairy lights twinkling all around her. It's Christmas, after all, and it looks like they've gone all out. She's a bit early, so she figures she'll just get a table and hope this guy isn't horribly late. Except, when she steps inside, she sees a guy sitting at a table near the back, wearing the most electric smile she's ever seen. He lights up even more when he sees her, standing and waving her over with a delighted expression on his face.

She's so stunned that he's actually on time (Josh never knew what it was like to be any less than 30 minutes late. For anything except surgery.) that she crosses the room in a little bit of a fog.

"Kate Beckett, right?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know. "I'm Richard Castle."

She shakes his hand, and then he's rushing around the table, pulling out her chair and helping her get settled.

"Thank you, Mr. Castle," she murmurs, still in shock. Josh never held her chair out for her, as if that was one of the only things a waiter was good for. She should have known from the beginning that he was no good, or at least no good for her.

"Please, call me Rick," he says, breaking into her thoughts.

He's sitting now, across from her, still with that big, stupid grin on her face, and she can't help responding to that with her own smile.

"So, Mr.—" he scowls at her, but the effect is ruined by the playful glint in his eyes. She chuckles. "So, Rick, how do you know my mother?"

"I don't," he says as he picks up his menu. "My mother gets her hair done at the same studio as yours. Apparently the two of them got to talking about their unmarried children." He shrugs. "And here we are."

It's comforting, in a strange way, to know that it's down to his meddling mother—and hers—that they're there at all.

She diverts her attention to the menu, though she really doesn't need to. This café is close enough to her apartment that she's eaten here at least once a week since she moved in. But she's feeling adventurous today, and decides to skip some of her favorites in favor of a big, juicy cheeseburger. She thinks maybe, if he catches sight of her all sloppy and greasy from the burger, he'll think twice about asking her on a second date. It isn't fair of her, she knows, but she's still not sure why she ever said yes and is just hoping this date isn't a disaster so she can go home and pop some popcorn and put on a movie. _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_ sounds really appropriate right now.

Selection apparently made, he sets his menu aside and focuses on her. "So, what were you listening to?"

"Radioactive. Imagine Dragons," she says automatically.

Her eyes pop up to his, but if she's expecting censure or distaste, she doesn't get it. Instead, he's got this delighted smile on his face.

"My daughter listens to them," he says. "Have you seen the video for that song? Talk about cool! And a little creepy, if I'm being honest." He pauses, then shrugs. "Mostly cool."

She's gaping at him, she knows, but she can't help herself. Josh hated that song—hated the group—and couldn't imagine what she saw in any of it.

"Are you okay?" Rick asks, reaching across to grasp her hand. His fingers are warm where they're wrapped around hers, and she looks at them, enfolded so gently. He's sweeping his thumb over her knuckles, and the warmth blooming in her chest is threatening to engulf her.

"Yeah," she says, looking up into the most beautiful blue eyes she's ever seen. "Yeah, I'm okay."

He looks at her like he's not convinced she's not lying, but lets it go. He holds on to her hand, though, until the waitress comes and takes their order. Turns out he likes burgers, too, so they'll both be greasy and messy together. She thinks that's nice, in an odd sort of way.

"So, you have a daughter?" she asks when the waitress has moved off.

"Yeah," he says, the goofy smile from earlier making a reappearance. "She's seventeen and the light of my life. Smart as a whip, too. Puts her old man to shame."

"And what do you do?"

It feels a little like an interrogation, and she feels a little bad about that, but it's been so long since she's been on a date that she's not really sure how it's supposed to go anymore. But if Rick notices, he doesn't say anything, just keeps on talking like it's the most natural thing in the world to do.

"I'm a journalist," he says, air quotes and everything. "I write for the New York Post."

She thinks about it for a second, and then the light goes on. "Wait, you're _that_ Richard Castle? The one who's been nominated for a Pulitzer for covering Hurricane Sandy?"

He gives her an abashed smile. "Yeah, that's me."

"But, those pieces were amazing!" she blurts out. Her inner fangirl is showing, and she couldn't care less. "I don't usually buy the Post, but I read every one of the pieces in that series. You did some incredible work."

"Thank you," he says. He seems genuinely pleased by her praise, and she feels something in her chest unclench just a little. "I didn't do much, just told a story that needed telling."

"Yeah, but to the people you wrote about, it was everything," Kate says. She remembers the articles being emailed around the office, and several groups of people from the DA's office going out on weekends—herself included—to help out once they knew where the real needs were.

"And what about you?" he says, obviously trying to divert attention away from himself. "Weren't you on the Parkington murders last year?"

She shrugs. "I sat second chair, but yeah. How'd you know?"

"A colleague of mine was in the gallery," he says. "He saw your cross of the defense witness. He was impressed, and nobody impresses him."

She blushes, but somehow the praise means more to her than just about anything anyone else had said about that case, even her boss's _atta girl_.

"So, tell me about yourself, Kate," he says as the burgers and their drinks arrive. "Tell me what makes you the person you are."

It's such an intimate question, and not at all like the questions she remembers asking and answering when she and Josh dated. Matter of fact, she can't remember talking about herself much when they dated. She just remembers sitting rapt while he talked about his surgeries and the hospital drama, loving the sound of his voice as it washed over her. She hadn't noticed until much later—after a disastrous birthday gift she's vowed never to talk about again—that he knew next to nothing about her, and that it was quite likely on purpose.

Conversation flows as they dig in to their lunch and share bits a pieces about themselves. She's in the middle of telling him a story about one of her colleagues—an unfortunate man by the name of Oren who is the world's clumsiest ADA—when he bursts into peals of laughter. She sits back, stunned, as she watches him try valiantly to control himself.

As he fights to calm down, she looks at him—really looks at him. He's wearing a beautiful cobalt blue shirt with a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. The color of the shirt makes his eyes seem to glow, it's so blue. He's got laugh lines around his eyes, and he's quick to smile, and she can't help but follow. It's such a change from Josh, who never laughed at anything she had to say that for a moment, she wonders if Rick is for real.

"I'm sorry," he says, wiping his eyes as he finally pulls himself back under control.

She shakes her head, trying and failing to suppress her smile. "It wasn't that funny."

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Maybe if someone else tells it. But you do this thing with your nose. It's cute."

She's not sure anyone's ever described her as cute. "Makes me sound like a kitten. Or the heroine in a James Taylor song."

"You like James Taylor?"

"Yeah," she says, shrugging. She's not going to tell him she's got every album he's ever made. It makes her sound pathetic.

"Me, too," he says. He smiles at her again, but this smile is sweet, gentle, like it's just for her. He's resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, just looking at her like the sun rises and sets with her, and for once she's speechless.

When they finally wind down, he insists on paying. She's secretly pleased; chivalry is apparently alive and well. They walk out of the restaurant side by side, heading for the parking lot and his car.

"I had a really good time today."

"Don't sound so surprised," he says.

"Sorry," she says, cringing. She's about to say something about how awkward and stilted dinners with Josh had gotten toward the end of their marriage, but she stops herself. It isn't that they weren't, because god were they. It's just that she's had so much fun that bringing him up now might ruin the date. She's had a good time, and despite all protests to the contrary, she's actually hoping they can do this again. Does that mean she's finally getting over the dreaded divorce?

"So, what are your plans for this evening?" he asks when they arrive at his car.

She's relieved to see it's not some flashy, pretentious thing. It's a BMW, but it's several years old, showing some wear in the paint. It's practical, and normal. It makes her like him all the more.

"I was just going to pop some popcorn, maybe pull out my two best friends: Ben and Jerry, and watch a movie."

"My daughter and I are going to watch _It's a Wonderful Life_ tonight," he says, that soft look on his face so endearing that she's left almost breathless.

"I was always partial to _White Christmas_ myself," she says.

He smiles then, that smile she'd seen on him earlier. "I like that one, too. It reminds me of being a kid and curling up with my Mom on the sofa with the lights out on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa and killing time. I never did see the old fella. Always fell asleep before the movie even ended."

It's such a sweet story, more intimate than either of them has shared all afternoon that she can actually feel her heart melting. Somewhere between the mad dash for the restaurant and now, she's actually found a little hope, and it's all down to this man. She leans up—and how often does 5'9" (in heels) Kate have to do that?—and brushes a kiss onto his cheek.

"I had fun today," she says, smiling softly back at him. "I'm hoping we can do it again sometime."

He clears his throat, his hands flutter at his sides as if he's trying valiantly to keep them to himself. She's entirely too pleased about that.

"Definitely. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Tomorrow, Richard Castle."

And then she turns and walks away. It takes everything in her not to look back to see if he's watching, but somehow she knows he is.

Her mother is going to be insufferable when she hears about how well the date went, but she can hardly find it in herself to care. She had fun, and what's more, for the first time in a long time, she's looking forward to doing it again.

Josh who?

~Finis


End file.
